This week, Words, Pauses, Noises returns to both poetry, and to one of our former WPN contributors. Catherine Franklin shares her alternative take on the eight-legged creatures that scurry above our heads at night in her delightful poem, ‘The Spiders’.
The Spiders
For years I watched the cobwebs lace their way
Across the ceiling high above my bed.
A canopy of tangled works of art,
Progressing nightly, thriving thread by thread.
I watched the different spiders come and go,
And saw them lie in wait to catch their prey.
Once satisfied, they left their webs behind
To gather dust, and then were on their way.
I grew used to their nocturnal routines,
And gazed in awe as they displayed their skill.
Yet as they slaved at mastering their craft,
All night through I lay completely still.
My eyes, alive, would dart around the room.
Adjusted fully to the lack of light.
The rest of me stayed motionless in bed,
My limbs so weary by that time of night.
Insomnia had rearranged my life;
The evenings dragged and filled my heart with dread.
Too tired to play like any other child,
I chose to watch the spiders live instead.
The act of watching these creatures leaves the readers with more questions about the little child, than the peculiar pastime. But there’s an emphasis on the visual that is appreciated in this iambic pentameter piece. While many may not agree to free reign that spiders have in our bedrooms at night, observing animals without disturbing their habitats is a lesson overdue.
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